The elaborate and classicizing beginning of the canto is marked by fully six verbs in the imperfect tense (solea, raggiasse, faceano, onoravano, dicean, pigliavano). (For a characterization of their effect, see Ragni's response, cited in the note to vv. 13-15.) This is one of the longest “single-sentence” canto-openings up to this point in the poem, only superseded by Inferno XXIV.1-15 and tied by Inferno XXII.1-12 and XXX.1-12; Purgatorio IX,1-12 and XXX.1-12. Later on see Paradiso XXIII.1-12, XXV.1-12, XXVIII.1-12, XXX.1-15 (if that passage may be considered to have a “break” after vv. 1-9); but see the “champion,” Paradiso XIII.1-24. (We need to be aware, however, that all Dantean punctuation, absent an autograph, is the result of editorial intervention, and always has been; thus we must look at the functional structure of groups of terzine in our attempt to segment “units” of his verse.)

For a listing of lecturae of this canto through 1959, see Muscetta (“Canto VIII,” in Lectura Dantis Scaligera: “Paradiso”, dir. M. Marcazzan [Florence: Le Monnier, 1968], p. 255n.).

Venus is “Cyprian” because she was born on the island of Cyprus.

Two words in this verse may benefit from closer attention. The verb raggiare is here used in the imperfect subjunctive, thus connoting a certain dubiety about the pagan opinion that the planet Venus was responsible for errors of erotic adventure. Cf. Convivio II.vi.9: “...the rays of each heaven are the paths along which their virtue descends [directly from the planet itself] upon these things here below” (tr. R. Lansing). Dante is speaking of Venus there, as he is here. For awareness of this connection, see Poletto (comm. to vv. 1-12). It seems likely that, once again, Dante is undermining an opinion put forward in Convivio; his current opinion is that the angels who govern this sphere (and not the pagan amorous divinities) “ray down” love into human fetuses.

The concept epicycle (epiciclo), another example of hapax legomenon, was the invention of ancient astronomers because their calculations of planetary movement, based on the belief that the earth was the center of the universe, around which the planets revolved, needed regularizing. And thus all the planets except the Sun supposedly had epicyclical movement. Here is Tozer on the nature of that motion (comm. to vv. 1-3): “The term 'epicycle' means a circle, the centre of which is carried round upon another circle; cp. Convivio [II.iii.16-17]. To account for the apparent irregularities in the orbits of the heavenly bodies which resulted from the view that they revolved round the earth, which was stationary, Ptolemy suggested that each planet moved in such a circle of its own in addition to the revolution of the sphere to which it belonged. In the case of Venus this is called the third epicycle, because the sphere of Venus is the third in order in the heavens.”

And see Carroll (comm. to vv. 1-21): “Translating all this into its spiritual equivalent, the meaning appears to be: as Venus had one movement round the earth and another round the Sun, so these souls had two movements of the heart, cyclic and epicyclic, one round some earthly centre, the other round God, of whom the Sun is the natural symbol.”

The second iteration of the word “ancient” flavors the first, which looks innocent enough when first we notice it: “ancient peoples” is not ordinarily a slur. But it becomes one once it is conjoined with “ancient error,” at once represented by the slaughter of innocent animals (“sacrifice”) and nefarious vows (“votive cry”).

Now Dante unites the pagan goddess Venus with her mother, Dione, and her son, Cupid. These three divinities constitute a sort of pagan trinity: Mother, Daughter, Holy Son.

See Convivio IV.xxvi.8 for Dido and the promise of eventual further reference to her in the seventh treatise, which, of course, was never completed. Is this Dante's fulfillment of that promise? The possible self-citation was pointed out by a student, Holly Hackett, Princeton '83.

Pietro Alighieri (Pietro1, comm. to vv. 7-9) cites the Virgilian passage, including the line (Aen. I.718) in which Dido's name, accompanied by gremio (translated by Dante's grembo, “lap”), appears, a line that describes Venus's maternal ruse, placing Cupid in Dido's lap disguised as Ascanius.

Ettore Paratore (“Il Canto VIII,” in “Paradiso”: Letture degli anni 1979-81, ed. S. Zennaro [Rome: Bonacci, 1989 Para.1989.1], p. 250) points out that the presence of Dido in this canto is yet another connection to Inferno V, such as others find revealed in vv. 32-33, 38-39, 45. But see Pietrobono (comm. to this verse) for earlier notice. However, Giacalone (comm. to vv. 44-45) gives credit to Vatori in 1920 for being in fact the first to make this particular observation; Giacalone generally – if only intrinsically but nevertheless incorrectly – gives credit to Pézard [*b Peza.1953.1*] for being the first to look back to Inf. V from this canto). Yet even Paratore's observation about Dido as further connection to the canto of Francesca and Paolo, which is presented as newly seen, had already been made by Pézard, p. 1491.

Dante “takes his start” with Venus (la bella Ciprigna) at verse 2. However, Vellutello (comm. to vv. 10-12) expands her meaning into the familiar “two Venuses,” the first earthly and carnal, the second heavenly and spiritual. He does not say so, but Dante is possibly loading his phrase with a double sense, talking about both the carnal Venus, with reference to whom he begins this canto, and his spiritual awakening in his love for Beatrice.

The meaning is that the Sun courts Venus, now from behind her (at her neck), now approaching her from the front (his attention fixed on her brow). The celestial phenomenon referred to is the epicyclical movement of Venus around the Sun, in which she moves from west to east, describing a circle around the circumference of her sphere, which, like every planetary sphere, is itself moving in a westerly direction. Thus the countering motion of the planet itself, on its epicycle, takes her from a position in which she has the Sun behind her in the morning, when she is known as Lucifer, to one in which she has him before her in the evening, when she is known as Hesperus. As Bosco/Reggio (comm. to this verse) point out, Venus is not both morning star and evening star on the same day, a fact of which Dante is aware (Conv. II.ii.1).

Once again the poet allows us to wonder how the protagonist, especially if he is in fact in the body (see Par. I.99), manages to penetrate the physical matter of the planets. For an analysis of the ways in which Dante's poetry assimilates difficult scientific notions of the necessary physics, see Alison Cornish (“Getting There: the Physics of Moral Advancement in Dante's Paradiso,” Dialoghi: Rivista di Studi Italici 1 [1997]: 73-85).

Eugenio Ragni (“Folor, recta dilectio e recta politia nel cielo di Venere,” Studi latini e italiani 3 [1989]: 137-39) points out that the imperfect tense used in the long opening passage (vv. 1-12) is now replaced by the past definite as we move from the hazy distant pagan times and into the hard-edged recent experience of the reality of the Christian afterworld beheld by the protagonist.

It is notable that the rising into the next planet on its epicyclical sphere is accomplished in a single tercet. By comparison, the arrivals in the Moon (Par. II.19-30) and in Mercury (Par. V.86-99) both take considerably more poetic space.

The five tercets that serve as introduction to Venus are followed by another five tercets that serve to introduce the souls of the saved who descend from the Empyrean to greet Dante here (Charles Martel in this canto; Cunizza, Folco, and Rahab in the next; the last three clearly are associated with an inclination toward carnal love that impaired their moral function, a fact that calls into question the reasons for Charles' presence here [see the note to vv. 55-57]).

Dante employs first a double simile (vv. 16-21) and then an implicit simile (it is one in content, if not quite in form, vv. 22-27) to describe these souls, before reporting on what they do (vv. 28-30), which is to sing “Hosanna.”

For the difficulties in ascertaining the actual polyphonic music Dante might have had in mind as he wrote this passage, see Denise Heilbronn (“Contrapuntal Imagery in Paradiso VIII,” Italian Culture 5 [1984], pp. 42-45).

We observe that the term lucerne (“lamps,” or “lights”) has now replaced ombre as the term for the souls of the saved. See the note to Paradiso III.34. And for the two following uses of lucerna with this meaning, see Paradiso XXI.73 and XXIII.28.

Once again the speed at which a spirit moves suggests how intensely it is capable of seeing/loving God.

The phrase “whether visible or not” refers to lightning (according to Aristotle, winds made visible by ignition [Carroll, comm. to vv. 22-26]) or windstorms (e.g., hurricanes).

Against the many commentators who believe that Dante here refers to the Empyrean, where the Seraphim (and the other eight angelic orders are located), Bosco/Reggio (comm. to these verses) point out that, yes, Dante could have been using synecdoche in order to signify all the angelic orders by naming only one, but that the blessed are probably meant to be considered seated in the Empyrean, as we will eventually see that they are. And so they conclude that Dante is referring to the Primum Mobile, governed by the Seraphim, where the dance of the descending souls has its beginning and moves down through the spheres (where we catch a glimpse of it here). However, it is possible that the majority view is correct and that Dante means to indicate that the souls, seated in the Empyrean, begin their dance when they leave their seats in the Rose on this unique occasion (thus muting the objection that we never else hear of the souls in the Empyrean doing anything but sit still in their bliss).

For the other occurrences of osanna (a joyous and affectionate shout) in the poem, see the note to Paradiso VII.1. And for the program of song in the last cantica, see the note to Paradiso XXI.58-60.

One of the souls (we will eventually be able to recognize him as Charles Martel, although he is never named) comes forward to speak for all of them. Indeed, his opening remarks (which conclude at verse 39) are not in any way personal. He in fact is the mouthpiece for all those who have come down. That will no longer be true once Dante asks him who he is, when he has reason to personalize his response.

Charles informs Dante that here they are whirling with the Principalities, the order of angels that governs the heaven of Venus, which Dante had once (incorrectly) said was that of the Thrones (Conv. II.v.6 and II.v.13). He now has firsthand experience of exactly how wrong he was.

Dante is obviously revising a previous opinion about angelology. (For the clarification that in Convivio he had followed the views of Gregory the Great as found in the Moralia, but here as found in his Homilies, see Carlo Muscetta [“Canto VIII,” in Lectura Dantis Scaligera: “Paradiso”, dir. M. Marcazzan {Florence: Le Monnier, 1968}, p. 258].) However, something far worse than a scholarly slip by an amateur of angelic lore is probably at stake here. The first ode of Convivio, the opening verse of which is cited, specifically rejects Beatrice in favor of Lady Philosophy. And a good deal of energy in the Commedia is put to the task of retracting the views that reflect that wrongful love. Some scholars, rejecting this notion, point out that Dante never gives over his predilection for philosophical investigation (e.g., Scott [“The Unfinished Convivio as Pathway to the Comedy,” Dante Studies 113 {1995}: 31-56], Dronke [Dante's Second Love: The Originality and the Contexts of the “Convivio” {Exeter: Society for Italian Studies, 1997}], and Scott again [Understanding Dante {Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 2004}, pp. 126-29]). Such a view is surely correct yet may be said to miss the point: Dante needs to separate himself from his choice of Lady Philosophy over Beatrice, and this requires jettisoning certain of his philosophical baggage, especially that displayed in the first decade of the fourteenth century, i.e., not Aristotle, but perhaps Plato (author of the Timaeus) and/or the neoplatonist Proclus (see the note to Par. IV.24); not Aristotle, but perhaps the “radical Aristotelians” (see Corti [La felicità mentale: nuove prospettive per Cavalcanti e Dante {Turin: Einaudi, 1983}]). There is a brief attempt to summarize the debate in Hollander (Dante: A Life in Works [New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001], pp. 88-90 and n. 108 [pp. 193-94]). And see the dispute between Hollander (“Dante's Deployment of Convivio in the Comedy,” Electronic Bulletin of the Dante Society of America [October 1996]) and Pertile (“Lettera aperta di Lino Pertile a Robert Hollander sui rapporti tra Commedia e Convivio,” Electronic Bulletin of the Dante Society of America [October 1996]).

The modern notion of a palinodic aspect in Dante's more mature view of his earlier work, in particular Convivio, featuring a certain amount of stern remonstrance on the part of the author of the Commedia against his younger self, began perhaps with Freccero, “Casella's Song” (1973) (reprinted in Dante: The Poetics of Conversion, ed. Rachel Jacoff [Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1986], pp. 186-94). His position was shared by Hollander (“Purgatorio II: Cato's Rebuke and Dante's scoglio,” Italica 52 [1975]: 348-63), Jacoff (“The Post-Palinodic Smile: Paradiso VIII and IX,” Dante Studies 98 [1980]: 111-22 [to a lesser degree]), Barolini (Dante's Poets [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984 – also to a lesser degree], pp. 31-40, 57-84); and see Hollander (“Purgatorio II: The New Song and the Old,” Lectura Dantis [virginiana] 6 [1990]: 28-45). In Italy this point of view has had a difficult time taking root. It is now forthrightly embraced by Picone (“Canto VIII,” in Lectura Dantis Turicensis: Paradiso, ed. Georges Güntert and Michelangelo Picone [Florence: Cesati, 2002], pp. 119-32), who lists the following as resisting what seems to him a convincing argument: Vittorio Russo (“'Voi che 'ntendendo' e 'Amor che ne la mente': la diffrazione dei significati secondo l'auto-commento del Convivio,” Studi Danteschi 61 [1989]: 1-11); Ignazio Baldelli (“Linguistica e interpretazione: l'amore di Catone, di Casella, di Carlo Martello e le canzoni del «Convivio» II e III,” in Miscellanea di studi linguistici in onore di Walter Belardi, ed. P. Cipriano, P. Di Giovine, M. Mancini, vol. II [Rome: n. p., 1996], pp. 535-55); Giunta (La poesia italiana nell'età di Dante: la linea Bonagiunta-Guinizzelli [Bologna: Il Mulino, 1998], pp. 58-62); and Pasquini (Dante e le figure del vero: La fabbrica della “Commedia” [Milan: Bruno Mondadori, 2001], pp. 122-48). However, for a considerably earlier Italian understanding of the conflict between the two Dantes, see Giovanni Federzoni (“La Divina Commedia” di Dante Allighieri commentata per la scuole e per gli studiosi [Bologna: L. Cappelli, 1920], comm. to vv. 36-39): “The reason for the reference to the canzone here is that the amatory life, to which the spirits encountered in this planet offered themselves, the Epicurean existence condemned by the austerity of the Christian religion, is, on the contrary, justified by pagan philosophy, the philosophy that Dante himself celebrated in the second treatise of the Convivio and most of all in this very canzone.”

We are meant to understand either that these angelic spirits, the Principalities, are not currently seated in the Empyrean but are, having descended with the souls, whirling in dance with the rotation of Venus or that they are still (and as always) whirling in the seventh circle out from the Point that is God in the Empyrean. If the first condition is what we take the text as indicating, this would mark a perhaps unique instance in which we are to envision an order of angels as descending along with the appropriate souls to a specific sphere in order to welcome Dante to it. While that might seem an unlikely understanding, we should remember that individual angels have been portrayed as guiding saved souls to the purgatorial shore, as present on each terrace of Purgatorio and even at the walls of Dis. However, it is possibly best to assume that Dante either meant (or should have meant) us to conceive the dance of the spirits, who have descended, as being in tune with the heavenly movement of the “celestial Princes,” who have not.

The first verse of the first canzone of the Convivio is cited here; that is beyond dispute. But what to make of this self-citation is the cause of some dispute (for an overview, see the note to vv. 34-39). The “understanding” (intendendo) that Dante is attributing to the intelligence of the angelic host of the Thrones is said (Conv. II.v.18) to move the sphere of Venus by the power of their intellects. That same condition would still seem to pertain, even if the “movers” are now seen to be Principalities (and not Thrones). See the note to Paradiso XXVIII.130-135.

The love that fills the speaker and his companions is obviously caritas, not the lust that they knew from their earthly lives. See the note to vv. 55-57.

While the literal sense of his remark is clearly that staying still and quiet to welcome Dante will be no less sweet to them than are their whirling dance and accompanying song, Charles' way of implicitly reprimanding Dante for his divagation from Beatrice is courtesy itself: “let our not singing your ode seem a favor to you.” Compare Casella's singing of the ode from Convivio III in Purgatorio II and Cato's rebuke.

While Dante turns to Beatrice to gain permission to pose a question to these souls, it seems likely that he might have looked at her to see if she is reflecting upon his disloyalty when he turned away from her to the donna gentile. But he has been through Lethe and himself cannot remember his fault. But if he cannot remember, we can. He did not behave so reverently to her memory in Convivio, when, as he tells it, after the death of Beatrice he read Boethius and Cicero looking for consolation (silver) and, in his reacquaintance with philosophy, found gold (Conv. II.xii.4): “I who sought to console myself found not only a remedy for my tears but also the words of authors, sciences, and books. Pondering these, I quickly determined that Philosophy, who was the lady of these authors, sciences, and books, was a great thing” (tr. R. Lansing).

Here we find the much-debated phrase, “Deh, chi siete?” (Please, who are you?) Perhaps the solution is simpler than the discussion surrounding it might indicate. While most of the early commentators either actually take or seem to take this plural voi as honorific, in the sixteenth century Daniello (comm. to vv. 44-45) objected fiercely, claiming that the text is corrupt and that he had seen another ancient one that reads “chi se' tu?”. That reading actually began to be printed for a time, until Scartazzini (comm. to vv. 43-44) did a minute review of the question and settled on the original reading, “Di', chi siete” (You [sing.], say who you [pl.] are). The record of the debate shows, however, that before Poletto did so in 1894 (comm. to vv. 40-45), none had made the only sensible suggestion that this is not only the correct reading (there is much textual evidence on its side, as Scartazzini demonstrated), but (as even Scartazzini failed to see) more than acceptable phrasing on Dante's part and a perfectly sensible way for the protagonist to frame his question: “You (the one to whom I am speaking), tell who all of the rest of you are” (i.e., at least the three others whom we will meet in the next canto). Poletto goes on to point out that exactly this sort of construction is found in Paradiso III.64, where Dante addresses Piccarda: “Dimmi, voi che siete qui.” Trucchi (comm. to vv. 40-45) returns to the discredited notion that this is an honorific voi for Charles Martel, whom Dante probably addressed in this mode in Florence, forgetting that Charles is not yet recognized by Dante. Currently, Petrocchi's return to a minority reading (“Deh,” and not “Di', [chi siete”]) rules, but shakily.

Dante's affection responds to the fondness the anonymous speaker has shown him (see vv. 32-33, 38-39).

Dante's presence in the heavens has already been presented as increasing the paradisiac joy of the blessed (see, for example, Par. V.105).

Charles presents himself as the good ruler, whose early death deprived Europe of his many virtues, but also unleashed the evil of others who came to power in his absence from the scene. “Charles Martel, eldest son of Charles II of Naples and Anjou and Mary, daughter of Stephen IV (V) of Hungary; he was born in 1271; and in 1291 he married Clemence of Habsburg, daughter of the Emperor Rudolf I, by whom he had three children, Charles Robert (Carobert) (afterwards king of Hungary), Clemence (married Louis X of France), and Beatrice; he died at Naples in 1295 at the age of 24” (Toynbee, “Carlo-3” [Concise Dante Dictionary]). He died, narrowly predeceasing his wife, of the plague, although some were of the opinion that he had been poisoned. Dante's other great hope, for his own political ends as well as his idealistic sense of the imperial role of Italy, Henry VII, had died recently (24 August 1313). That event, dashing even Dante's unrealistic hopes for the triumph of the principle of restored imperial leadership, probably colored his reflections about the untimely death of Charles eighteen years earlier.

Carroll (comm. to these verses) has this to say about this tercet: “It is a mistake to say, as is sometimes done, that this is a mere temporary concealment due to the sudden increase of joy caused by this meeting with his friend. Doubtless there was this increase of joy, and therefore of light, for Dante expressly says so (Par. VIII.46-48); but from the very first he describes them as 'lamps' and 'sparks' within a flame [see the note to verse 19]. There is no indication that at any time he saw them in their own proper forms.”

Whatever fantasy Dante may have had of a better (non-exilic) existence had Charles remained alive and a power on the peninsula, his use of the verb amare and the noun amore in this tercet, spoken by Charles in Venus, shows how the poet has reconceptualized the nature of love from Dido's kind to spiritual friendship (see the note to Inf. II.61). For an essay on the two Venuses, see Landino's proem to this canto. Lino Pertile (“Quale amore va in Paradiso?” in “Le donne, i cavalieri, l'arme, gli amori”: Poema e romanzo: la narrativa lunga in Italia, ed. Francesco Bruni [Venice: Marsilio, 2001], p. 60) is not alone in objecting that Charles does not seem to be present here in the role of lover, if Cunizza, Folchetto, and Rahab (found in the next canto) all do. Indeed, his lengthy self-presentation (vv. 49-84) is exclusively political in nature. For an attempt to link Charles and Venus, see Patrick Boyde (Perception and passion in Dante's “Comedy” [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993], p. 285): “Perhaps we are meant to infer that the rays of Venus may dispose a 'gentle heart' to disinterested friendship, as well as to luxuria.” That is a reasonable response to Dante's situation of Charles in this planet. Nonetheless, Benvenuto da Imola portrays Charles as a “son of Venus” (comm. to vv. 31-39): “fuit vere filius Veneris quia amorosus, gratiosus, vagus, habens in se quinque invitantia hominem ad amorem, scilicet, sanitatem, pulcritudinem, opulentiam, otium, et juventutem” (...he was indeed a son of Venus, amorous, graceful, eager, possessing five qualities that promote a man's disposition to love, i.e., good health, physical attractiveness, wealth, leisure, and youth).

Eugenio Ragni (“Folor, recta dilectio e recta politia nel cielo di Venere,” Studi latini e italiani 3 [1989]: 145-52) shows that Dante's presentation of Charles Martel accords with his presentation of the ideal ruler in Monarchia (I.xi.6-18).

See Girolamo Arnaldi (“La maledizione del sangue e la virtù delle stelle: Angioini e Capetingi nella Commedia di Dante,” La Cultura 30 [1992]: 55-56 – cited by Picone [“Canto VIII,” in Lectura Dantis Turicensis: Paradiso, ed. Georges Güntert and Michelangelo Picone {Florence: Cesati, 2002}, p. 124]) for the appealing notion that, when Charles visited Florence in 1294, he and Dante met in the environment of S. Maria Novella, where at this period visiting heads of state were customarily lodged and where Dante may have also been involved. See his own words: “I began to go where she [Philosophy] was truly revealed, namely to the schools of the religious orders [Dominicans at S. Maria Novella, Franciscans at S. Croce] and to the disputations held by the philosophers” (Conv. II.xii.7, tr. R. Lansing). Thus the context of Dante's new “love” (for the Lady Philosophy) is understandably referred to. It must have permeated his and Charles' discussions at the time, as may be evidenced by Charles' reference to the first ode of the Convivio, usually dated to around this time (ca. 1293-94).

The familiar technique of locating territories by their watery limits is employed here to identify Provence, part of the dowry (see Purg. XX.61) of Beatrice, daughter of Raymond Berenger, wife of Charles I of Anjou, and grandmother of Charles Martel. Upon the death of his father, Charles II (who in fact survived him by fourteen years, dying in 1309), he would have inherited the titles to lordship as Count of Provence.

The second tercet points to southern Italy, where Charles would have inherited kingship over the Kingdom of Naples (as a result of the Vespri siciliani [1282], no longer of Sicily as well): “The kingdom of Apulia in Ausonia, or Lower Italy, embracing Bari on the Adriatic, Gaeta in the Terra di Lavoro on the Mediterranean, and C[a]tona in Calabria; a region bounded on the north by the Tronto emptying into the Adriatic, and the Verde (or Garigliano) emptying into the Mediterranean” (Longfellow's comm. to verse 61).

Charles inherited the kingship of Hungary through his mother. Crowned in absentia (1292), in Aix, he never exercised his rights to rulership, a king in title only. Hungary is farther along the Danube, past Austrian lands (“its German banks”), to the east and south.

The fourth realm, which might have been Charles' to lose by his untimely death had not it already been lost because of the Sicilian Vespers (1282), was actually referred to in Dante's time by its classical name “Trinacria” (see Bosco/Reggio, comm. to vv. 67-70), possibly to avoid reminding people that the Kingdom of Sicily (currently an independent entity, under the control of the House of Aragon) used to contain the territories of Naples.

Picone (“Canto VIII,” in Lectura Dantis Turicensis: Paradiso, ed. Georges Güntert and Michelangelo Picone [Florence: Cesati, 2002], p. 127), following Arnaldi's suggestion (“La maledizione del sangue e la virtù delle stelle: Angioini e Capetingi nella Commedia di Dante,” La Cultura 30 [1992]: 51, 57), thinks that Dante may here be imagining a second cultural “golden age” in Sicily if Charles and his heirs had only governed the island.

Pachynus and Pelorus are the ancient names for Capes Passero and Faro, and form “arms” that stretch out at either end of the eastern shore of Sicily (the present-day Gulf of Catania). For Pelorus, see the note to Purgatorio XIV.31-42.

Tifeo (Typhon [or Typhoeus]), also referred to by the variant Tifo (Inf. XXXI.124), was a hundred-headed monster who attempted to acquire power over all creatures. Jupiter struck him down with his thunderbolt and buried him in Tartarus under Mt. Aetna, the eruptions of which were supposedly due to his exertions to escape (see Ovid, Metamorphoses V.346-358, where Typhon's two hands are said to be pilloried by Pelorus and Pachynus). Dante dispenses with “classical erudition” in the name of “modern science”: the clouds of smoke hanging over the area are not the result of Typhon's struggles to escape, but of sulphur burning in the earth. For this explanation, Tozer (comm. to verse 72) suggests that Dante found a source in Isidore of Seville (Etym. XIV.8).

The so-called Vespri siciliani were begun at the hour of Vespers on Easter Monday of 1282 in Palermo. The uprising resulted in the French losing control, eventually, of all Sicily, which ended up being ruled by Spain.

The debate over the most likely interpretation of these lines goes back to the fourteenth century, one school of interpretation insisting that the phrase “l'avara povertà di Catalogna” (the greedy poverty of Catalonia) refers to the Spanish courtiers who will accompany Charles' brother Robert to Italy once he is “put on” (in 1309), the other, that it is Robert's own avarice that is worthy of a Spaniard. The first interpretation currently is the most favored, but counter-arguments are presented by Bosco/Reggio (comm. to this tercet) and Picone (“Canto VIII,” in Lectura Dantis Turicensis: Paradiso, ed. Georges Güntert and Michelangelo Picone [Florence: Cesati, 2002], pp. 128-29). Picone (p. 128n.) argues that antivedere does not here have its usual meaning (“see in advance”), but refers to a past event (a necessary choice if one believes that the event referred to does not lie in Robert's future). However, see the note to vv. 79-84. And see Barolini (Dante's Poets [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984], p. 65n.), documenting the three other appearances of the verb in the poem (Inf. XXVIII.78; Purg. XXIII.109; Purg. XXIV.46). In all four contexts the prediction of future occurrences is the subject.

Charles' brother was a great enemy to Henry VII. Less than a year after Henry's death, on 15 March 1314, Pope Clement V announced Robert's appointment as imperial vicar, a position that Henry had held. Robert reigned as king of Naples until 1343, long enough, that is, to place the laurel wreath on Petrarch's head on 6 April 1341. Dante was spared knowledge of that coronation. If Canto VI is about the triumphs of Rome, this canto is concerned with political defeats, those suffered by Charles and by Dante: Charles' death brought his brother to the throne and into collaboration with Clement.

Robert and his “ship of state” (the Kingdom of Naples) are already so heavily burdened with difficulties that it is in greater danger of foundering if it is loaded with still more dead weight. Since Robert's avarice is already “on board,” that comes close to ruling out the second interpretation of verse 77 (see the note to vv. 76-78), leaving the avarice of his Spanish followers as the better reading. For barca with this sense (“ship of state”), see Paradiso XVI.96.

This verse has long been the cause of dispute: To whom precisely does the phrase “worthy stock” refer? Since Charles' following discourse centers on the differing virtues of fathers and sons (with fathers generally getting the best of the comparisons), some suggest that the reference here is to the otherwise despised Charles II of Anjou, Charles Martel's father (see, e.g., Lombardi, comm. to vv. 82-84, for this view). Tozer (comm. to vv. 82-84) finds justification in such a reading in Paradiso XIX.128, where the elder Charles is granted a single virtue (and thus a certain native liberality). As uncomfortable as it may leave one feeling, that is perhaps the best available gloss.

This also is currently a disputed verse. What is the reference of the noun milizia? It was only in the twentieth century, with Torraca's complex and interesting gloss (comm. to vv. 82-84), that the possibility that the word might refer to soldiers is even broached. All who have a previous opinion are certain that the word refers to administrators, government officials, or the like. We have accepted their view for our translation (“officials”). It allows, by the way, the understanding that the members of Robert's Spanish entourage may be included in the group, which perhaps accounts for Bosco/Reggio's insistence that the word refers to “mercenary soldiers” (comm. to this verse), a reading in which they are the first.

Dante tells Charles that he is glad on two counts, first that his royal friend knows of Dante's gladness without his needing to express it; second that he knows of it in God, because he is saved.

Dante continues by wondering, on the basis of vv. 82-83, how a good father can have a bad son. See Picone (“Canto VIII,” in Lectura Dantis Turicensis: Paradiso, ed. Georges Güntert and Michelangelo Picone [Florence: Cesati, 2002], pp. 129-31) for clarifying discussion of this passage and the rest of the canto, which, he argues, relies for its basic point on a biblical text, the parable of the sower (Matth. 13:3-23).

For the insistent presence of this image in the canto, see the note to verse 136.

Tozer (comm. to these verses) summarizes Charles' thoughts: “The argument is as follows: God, in creating the universe, provided not only for the existence of things, but for their working in the most perfect manner; and the instrumentality which He appointed for that purpose was the stellar influences, which are directed by the angels or Intelligences who preside over them: Were it not for these, chaos and not order would prevail.”

God sets the mark of his Providence upon his creatures, not through his direct creation (which is reserved for the individual human soul), but indirectly, through the stars and planets associated with the eight lowest celestial spheres. This arrangement maintains human freedom of the will and yet allows God the role of ordering his Creation, thus avoiding chaos (see verse 108).

God foresees not only the nature of the composite human soul (not only the part that he makes directly, the rational soul, but the animal and vegetative souls, that he helps shape indirectly, by agency of the celestial bodies), but its ultimate perfection as it prepares to leave its body. The word salute, as readers of the Vita nuova (where it also puns on saluto [salutation]) will recall, is utilized by Dante in such ways as to run the gamut from physical “health” to more generalized “well-being” to Christian “salvation,” and it probably has polyvalent significance here.

The image of an arrow striking its mark once again meets the reader's eyes (see Par. I.119 and V.91). If one had to pick one passage in the poem that might lead a reader to believe that Dante's view of predestination verges on determinism, this tercet might be a popular selection. Yet, once we reflect on the way Dante has held back, avoiding dangerous formulations in the previous tercet, we can sense that he is both aware of the pitfall and determined to avoid it. For the wider meaning in Dante's use of the verb disporre (verse 104), see the note to Paradiso XXX.138.

As he concludes his “lecture” on predestination, Charles makes it clear why he has had to come so close to the shoals of determinism, where, after Augustine, many Christian thinkers have come close to sinking: If God does not order the universe, it would not have any order at all. Nature, left to its own, would produce only chaos, as King Lear discovered. Insistence on God's control of so much of the field of human action might seem to whittle away the uses of free will to a point approaching nullity. Yet Dante, through Beatrice (see Par. V.19-24), has already insisted on the efficacy of God's greatest gift to humankind.

Charles ends his exposition by an argument from impossibles. For God and his informed angels to produce chaos, they would have to be deficient, and that is impossible.

This brief exchange may remind readers of the similar sort of question-and-answer drill performed by Socrates and one of his “student” interlocutors (whose response is the deferential “Yes, Socrates” that still strikes readers as comical) in Platonic dialogues. As Bosco/Reggio point out (comm. to verse 114), Dante is here citing an Aristotelian maxim, “Nature never fails to provide the things that are necessary,” that he also cites in Convivio IV.xxiv.10, Monarchia I.x.1, and Questio 44.

Aristotle again sets Charles' agenda; see the opening of the Politics: “Man is by nature a political animal” (the Latin Aristotle in fact said that he is a civile [civic] one, thus accounting for Dante's cive, which we have translated as “social”).

To the next proposition (that diversity among humankind is desirable [see Aristotle, Politics I.i.2]), Charles himself supplies Dante's agreement (the poet having in fact already done so in Conv. IV.iv.5, when he speaks not only of the social needs of human life, but the need for diversity of occupation among the members of the community).

The poet now characterizes Charles' method of argumentation as “deductive,” reminding the reader of the Scholastic style of his conversation.

And so, Charles concludes, your natural dispositions to take up one thing or something else must differ one from another. It results that, in order to have leading practitioners of various necessary human tasks, one of you becomes Solon (a legislator), another Xerxes (a general), still another Melchizedech (a priest), and finally Daedalus (an artisan). These four “orders” of society include the most necessary activities.

Why Dante chose to identify Daedalus by the tragic flight of his son, Icarus, is not clear, unless we are to understand the reference as blending with the next topic (as some commentators do), the differences between members of the same family.

Paratore (“Il Canto VIII,” in “Paradiso”: Letture degli anni 1979-81, ed. S. Zennaro [Rome: Bonacci, 1989], p. 257), attempts to demonstrate that Dante's views of Solon and Xerxes (as well as his treatment of Romulus in verse 132) derive from loci in different books of the Historiae adversus paganos of Orosius.

See Tozer's paraphrase and interpretation of these lines: “'[T]he nature of the revolving spheres, which, like a seal on wax, imprints itself on mankind, exercises its art well, but does not distinguish one house from another.' In other words: The stellar influences produce individuality of character in men, but do not favour one family more than another by perpetuating excellence in it. Dante is returning to the question, How can a bad son proceed from a good father?”

The word natura is focal to this discussion. Aversano (Dante daccapo [glosses to the Paradiso, copia d'eccezione, sent by the author on 11 September 2001], p. 37) points out that its seven appearances in this canto represent the heaviest concentration of the word in the poem. That is about one-eleventh of its roughly seventy-seven occurrences. The two other cantos that are particularly marked by it are Inferno XI and Paradiso VII, in both of which it occurs five times. Further, these seven presences of natura fall within sixty-two lines of one another, at vv. 82, 100, 114, here, 133, 139, 143, thus insisting on its importance in this discussion that is triggered by consideration of the mean-spirited nature of Charles' father, Charles II (verse 82), and goes on to widen its focus to include, as here, natura naturans (“great creating Nature”) and natura naturata (created Nature [verse 139]).

Quirinus was the name given to Romulus, Rome's first king, posthumously, when he was celebrated as a god. His mother, Rhea Silvia, a Vestal Virgin (in some versions of the story), gave birth to twins and claimed that Mars had lain with her. Daniello (comm. to this tercet) may have been the first to refer, in this context, to Virgil (Aen. I. 292-293). But see Tommaseo (comm. to this tercet), who “adjusts” the Virgilian passage to the more appropriate verse 274, where, according to Virgil, Ilia (another name for Rhea Silvia?), a priestess, bears to Mars her twin offspring, Romulus and Remus. (It is striking that neither here nor anywhere in this or in his other works does Dante mention Remus, Romulus's twin, especially here, given the facts that he has just considered Jacob and Esau and that their story has obvious similarities to that of this pair of emulous fraternal twins, one of whom [Romulus] eventually killed the other.) And thus Dante's view (and the standard view in the commentaries) is at some variance from Virgil's presentation of the immortal bloodlines of the founder of Rome. See, for example, Umberto Cosmo (L'ultima ascesa: Introduzione alla lettura del “Paradiso”, ed. B. Maier [Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1965], p. 78), referring to the fact that: “ ...il figlio di un ignoto plebeo può accogliere in sé la virtù di fondare una città come Roma, e salire tanto alto nella riputazione universale da esser ritenuto per disceso da un Dio” ( ...the son of an unknown commoner may harbor the potency exhibited in founding a city like Rome, in making his way to the pinnacle of general approbation so as to be considered descended from a god [Mars]). In the instance of Jacob and Esau, Dante would seem to be interested only in making the point that twins may differ from one another, while in that of Romulus and his unnamed plebeian father the difference involves father and son. But the reader, as Dante must have known, will also consider Remus as a Roman Esau.

Charles finishes with a flourish: The lives of fathers would always map in advance the lives of their offspring (we must remind ourselves of the sexually skewed biology sponsored by the poet in Purg. XXV.43-48, which has it that only the paternal seed shapes the human characteristics of the infant [the rational soul is inbreathed directly by God]). Thus, were it not for the mediating “interference” of Providence rayed down by the stars, we would all be precisely like our fathers.

As Denise Heilbronn points out (“Contrapuntal Imagery in Paradiso VIII,” Italian Culture 5 [1984], pp. 45-46), this phrasing joins with that found in vv. 11-12 and 95-96 to connect with a passage in Convivio (II.xiii.14): “and [rhetoric] appears in the morning when the rhetorician speaks before the face of his hearer, and it appears in the evening (that is, behind) when the rhetorician speaks through writing, from a distance.” Whether or not Dante's associations of the planets with the seven liberal arts in Convivio is binding in Paradiso is a question that remains to be settled, but, at the very least, a certain skepticism seems called for. It is probably just to reflect that, had he wanted to insist on these identities, he easily could have. That he did not would seem to make their application here dubious.

For the only other occurrence of the word corollario in the poem, see Purgatorio XXVIII.136. On the word itself, see Vellutello (comm. to vv. 136-138), responding to the verb form ammanti (cloak): “è ottima comparatione, perchè sì come 'l manto è habito aggiunto sopra de gli altri habiti, così il corolario [sic] è conclusione aggiunta sopra l'altre conclusioni” (it is a wonderful comparison, because just as the cloak is a garment worn on top of other garments, so the corollary is a concluding demonstration added to other concluding demonstrations).

In the guise of sound practical advice, Dante levels his guns at Robert, as we shall see in the concluding lines of the canto. Paratore (“Il Canto VIII,” in “Paradiso”: Letture degli anni 1979-81, ed. S. Zennaro [Rome: Bonacci, 1989], pp. 260-62), gives evidence that reveals Dante's accord in this view of Nature with that expressed by St. Thomas in his Summa contra Gentiles (III.80-81).

Raoul Manselli, “Carlo Martello,” ED I (1970), p. 843a, thinks of Hugh Capet, of whom Charles Martel turns out to be the only “good fruit” (Purg. XX.45).

It is a curiosity that Daniello (comm. to these verses) is brought to think of an example of such withering on the vine in the person of Giovanni Boccaccio, sent by his father to Paris [Naples?] to learn the ways of the merchant, only to return after his father's death to the world of letters.

If we feel that we are hearing the voice of Rousseau in these lines, we should remember that natura naturata is the result of a process very much under the control of God through his instruments, the stars. As we have just learned, God intervenes not only directly, when He creates our rational souls, but indirectly, in controlling our innate propensities through the stellar influences. Thus today it might seem an expression of a Dantean point of view whenever we hear an athlete or a singer referring to his or her “God-given talent.”

A part of John S. Carroll's gloss to vv. 137-148 is worth having: “There is little doubt that Charles is referring to two of his own brothers. Louis, the next to himself in age, almost immediately after his release from captivity in Aragon, renounced his hereditary rights, joined the Franciscan Order, and was made Bishop of Toulouse [Louis died in 1297 and was canonized in 1311]. This renunciation of the sword, for which Dante evidently thought him better fitted, gave the throne to his younger brother Robert, who had in him more of the preacher than the king. Villani says of him: 'This King Robert was the wisest king that had been among Christians for five hundred years, both in natural ability and in knowledge, being a very great master in theology and a consummate philosopher' [Chronicle, xii.10]. Robert was surnamed 'the Wise.' Petrarch, who regarded him as the king of philosophers and poets, submitted to be examined by him for the space of two days and a half, in the presence of the entire Court, on every known branch of learning. Gregorovius sweeps aside Robert's claims to wisdom with contempt: 'The King enjoyed an undeserved reputation as a lover of learning, and was himself the author of tedious lucubrations on religious and profane questions.' His character reminds us of James, 'the British Solomon,' who held that 'a sovereign ought to be the most learned clerk in his dominions,' and took himself seriously as a great theologian.”